


As it Ages

by contemporarydreamer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Sadness (as usual), Science, Self-Doubt, Sexuality Crisis, Zayn is married to science, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:24:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6508402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contemporarydreamer/pseuds/contemporarydreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short sequel to a History of Wine. Zayn and Harry find their way back to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As it Ages

**Author's Note:**

> I really truly did not expect this from myself. Can't resist a happy ending though.

Zayn sighs, worn out and frustrated. Louis and whichever friends he's brought around this time are chattering noisily in the kitchen and he can't hear the person on the other end of the phone he's supposed to be talking to. He didn't even hear her name. 

“Sorry, I didn't catch that last bit. Would you mind repeating that?” He says, sitting up off the edge of his bed and pounding a fist on the door of his room, hoping that maybe this time Louis will hear and shut the hell up. 

“I'd asked what you're focusing in.” Her voice is soft and grainy and she doesn't sound impatient at all, but maybe it's the low quality of the call. 

“Oh, of course, I'm studying tissue and cellular engineering with a focus in mutations and dystrophies in muscle cells.” 

“And what prompted you to choose that specific field, Zayn?” 

“Well I,” he hesitates, wondering what to say to not sound boring. “I've had an interest in muscle cell mutations from the moment they were mentioned in my undergrad courses. I do understand that other types of cancers and mutations can be more harmful. Bone marrow mutations are far deadlier, for instance, but I suppose a certain weakness comes with muscle dystrophies that I've always been particularly fascinated with studying and hopefully curing.” 

He pauses, waiting for her response. When it doesn't come, he takes a breath and continues. 

“I've done extensive research on proteins specifically and the effects gene mutations have on them. I understand that genes and gene tweaking is one of the most popular areas of research currently, but I do think I could be a help to the cancer research community at Memorial Sloan. The research lab I did for my final grade focused on the use of alanine-scanning mutagenesis techniques to observe the effects of collagen mutations on protein structure. To my knowledge, that hasn't been done yet at Memorial Sloan, so I feel as though my research could bring valuable insights to the community.” He finishes on an exhale, heart pounding a mile a minute as though he hasn't rehearsed it a thousand times. 

The woman laughs on the other end. “You didn't even give me a chance to ask why you think you'd be a valuable asset in our community.” 

He cuts her off quickly. “And to clarify, I fully intend to start as an unpaid intern, should I be offered a position.”

“Your application here states that you had an internship with the MDA program in Ithaca near Cornell, where you studied.” 

“Yes.” 

“Why did you decide to expand your career whereabouts to Manhattan?” 

Zayn opens his mouth to reply but his throat feels tight. He lets his eyes falls shut as he tries to think of a reason that would fit into a career context. 

_Harry is why_. His wobbly chin and the way he held Zayn’s jaw when he kissed him in the airport a million years ago. 

“I just.” He doesn't want to stutter but he hasn't rehearsed this so he knows he will. “I went to Columbia for undergrad so I'm familiar with Manhattan, probably more than I am with Ithaca, even. I also, um. There are more people in Manhattan, obviously--not that there aren't people in Ithaca. But Manhattan is a lively area and it has a rich culture and I appreciate that a lot. Ithaca is a bit, well. Isolated.”

“Okay, Zayn. We’re very impressed by your research here and we appreciate you calling back. When can you start?” 

A grin splits Zayn’s face in two. “Um, anytime. Whenever I'm needed. I have nothing holding me back so I can start as soon as possible, really.”

It's a Wednesday and he knows they won't ask him to make the four hour commute by tomorrow, but he hopes anyway. 

“Alright, come in Monday and we’ll work out the details of your internship and introduce you to the team.” 

“That's--wow--okay, thank you. That sounds great. Thanks.” 

“Alright, see you Monday.” 

“Yes, you too. Thanks again.” 

 

**

 

“So, what, you're moving back to the city?” Louis asks on Saturday night when Zayn’s packing. 

“I'm not moving. Yet. I dunno. It's just for the summer. Why aren't you moving, anyway? You wanna stay here in the middle of nowhere?” 

“You're right,” Louis says on a sigh, propping his feet up on the coffee table then taking them off when Zayn raises his eyebrows at him. “How much free space does this Danny guy have anyway?”

“None, mate. I'm sleeping on his couch, it's not like he has an extra master bedroom.”

“You won't even have a bed to yourself?” Louis asks, bewildered. “Where will you tell science jokes to the girls you're trying to sleep with?” 

Cheeks heated, Zayn turns his head the other way, looking for something to do with his hands now that his carry-on’s full. “The couch, I guess.” 

Louis doesn't say anything, rolling his eyes slightly, so Zayn ducks into the kitchen for a bag of Cheetos and comes back out to sit next to him. Telling him about Harry is both the first and last thing he wants to do. His heart beats wildly in his chest every time he thinks of Harry, and he hasn't even said his name out loud yet in the past five months. He feels like he hasn't had a second to catch his breath in years. 

 

**

 

It's Friday two weeks later and the clouds are hanging low in a pink, misty sky. He's walked past _Una Storia Di Vino_ on the way home from work so many times now that he could walk blindfolded to it, but he's never once stepped inside and his stomach feels like it's being flipped on a frying pan as he stands in front of it and wonders if he should finally go inside. 

_Not today_ , he resolves, turning on his heel to walk to Danny’s. Not today, when he's wearing jeans with an unintentional rip and a shirt he’s had since first year undergrad.

“Fucking,” he mutters to himself angrily when his key gets jammed in the hole, shaking the handle until Danny comes and opens the door, a crooked smile on his face. 

“Sorry about that. Still need to get it fixed.”

Zayn agrees, albeit less casually than he intended to. He's had a rough day, is all. He got scolded by his boss for suggesting five fewer trials than were necessary for an experiment and he took off his favorite ring when he was putting on gloves and left it in the pocket of his lab coat, which is god knows where now. He only has three friends in Manhattan and he's still in the unpaid portion of his internship and he misses eating out and paying for science museum tickets and sending gifts home. 

That and he can't stop thinking about Harry, who he hasn't seen in so long that he's beginning to doubt he's real. It keeps him up at night and while it used to make him sad, it only frustrates him now. Why didn't he ask Harry for his number? Asking for his surname was a grand waste since he doesn't have a Facebook but, god, how could he be so stupid to not ask for his number? 

Then they maybe would have kept in touch and he wouldn't be pulling out his hair about showing up to the place he works in surprise. 

_Why didn't you ask him for his number, Zayn?_

But as he mulls it over in his mind, he knows why he didn't. His parents have never seen a gay person in the flesh, let alone had one in the family, and their criticisms of ones they see on the television are harsh enough for Zayn to reconsider. He can't blame them, per say; it's the way they were raised and the way they raised him. He gets a sinking feeling in his stomach when he thinks about wanting other men the way he's wanted women before, but Harry’s different. Which makes, sense, he supposes. He doesn't want just any girl, when he does. He wouldn't want just any boy. 

But _god_ , does he want Harry. He squeezes his eyes shut, sitting on a stool by the counter in Danny’s kitchen, hand buried in a bag of stale Lays, thinking of Harry’s soft upper lip and the way he shivered when Zayn kissed his ear, the quiet gasp he let out when their palms touched for the first time. 

He tries not to spend entire days pining over him, but his hand’s felt cold since Harry last let go of it. 

The worst part of the whole thing is his assumption that Harry’s still single and still willing after spending six hours with Zayn in an airport _one_ time five months ago. 

He's a scientist and he's done more experiments in his life than he's had meals, probably. He should know better than to expect the least likely outcome by now. He can't pull a human heart out of a living body and expect it to still beat, despite how cute Harry looked when he’d jokingly said it in the Wendy’s of LaGuardia Airport. 

 

**

 

It's 9:48 and the restaurant closes at 10 but Zayn’s feeling restless and itchy and he doesn't even know why he came. 

_Fucking stay twelve more minutes,_ a voice says in his head but it's starting to clear out and his plates been empty for half an hour now. The waiter keeps refilling his glass of wine,  
which went well with his pasta but after the fifth refill started to taste like stale juice. Or maybe the tastebuds on his tongue have been worn out. The waiter also keeps shooting him looks, not impolite ones, but desperate, _please, don't be that guy_ looks and he feels guilty. 

A minute’s past and he can't do it, so he raises his hand tentatively and asks for the check, please. It turns out to be about twice as much as he’s comfortable paying—turns out the wine refills weren’t free—but it’s fine because the sauce was more than delicious. 

_Do it!_ The voice says. 

The waiter brings him back his card and he says, “Thank you,” then, after an embarrassed smile, “hey, can you compliment the saucier for me?”

The waiter gives him a skeptical look but nods, telling him to have a nice night as he walks towards the door, coat clutched tightly in his hand. 

He checks his watch once he’s outside. It’s 9:51 and there’s conveniently a bench right across the street and he just downloaded _Holes_ onto iBooks since he’s been meaning to reread it. He could very comfortably wait the nine minutes until closing time and catch Harry as he’s leaving and ask him how he’s been and if he wants to have that first date they talked about in the vulnerable last hour of the snowstorm in December. 

It’s mid-June now but it feels like a crispy late October and he regrets not bringing a heavier coat as he wraps the flimsy one he did bring around himself and starts the brisk walk to Danny’s, already planning his excuse for tomorrow’s trip past the restaurant when he hears his name called a few metres behind him and he freezes, petrified. 

“Zayn!” It comes again and he turns halfway, expecting to see Harry at the entrance ten metres away from him staring at him awkwardly, but Harry’s already next to him, panting slightly. He looks the same, except for how he’s dressed, of course, in all white, with his hat grasped in his hand, leaving his hair tousled. He’s smiling and he looks so puzzled that Zayn wants to hug him for half a year then punch him in the face for making his life weird. He's the cutest person Zayn's ever met. He feels weak in the knees because of it. 

“I—hey. You came to my work.” 

“Yeah, I couldn’t stop thinking about that sauce you were going on about.” Zayn laughs and makes intimate eye contact with the ground by his feet before forcing himself to look back up at Harry. 

“Well did you like it?” He asks. 

“Yeah! I complimented you on it.”

Harry grins. “Well I’m not the saucier anymore, but I’m sure Ted’s flattered.” He laughs and Zayn groans, hiding his face behind his hand in humiliation. 

“Sorry,” he says, then, “So hey, you’ve finally been upgraded to sous chef?” He says hopefully and this time Harry rolls his eyes, still smiling. 

“Stop making me feel bad. I’m only line cook now.” His dimple shows and Zayn’s chest feels inexplicably warm. 

“That’s still great! Really, that’s awesome. And you were talking about waiting tables at Wendy’s.”

“No, _you_ were talking about me waiting tables at Wendy’s, if I recall correctly.” 

Zayn shrugs, glancing upwards in feign confusion. “I don’t recall. So you didn’t make the sauce that I liked so much? I’m shocked and confused. What do you make now?”

“Meats, and such. Lamb is my favorite to make but I’m usually stuck with fish.”

“Oh. I ordered pasta.”

Harry stands astute. “Well. I’ll see you next year,” he says then puts his hat back on and turns around, walking away from Zayn. 

“Wait, wait!” Zayn skirts around him to stand in front of him. “I didn’t know! I’d go back in and order some lamb but you close in a few minutes. Honestly.” 

“Well,” a shy smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips. “I don’t know about lamb but I have some chicken in my freezer waiting to be thawed.”

The hairs on Zayn’s arms rise at the flirtations. He feels somewhat like he’s falling backwards into a pool. He smiles instead of biting Harry’s face off like he wants to. 

“Oh, Harry. I was only joking” he mutters and schools his face into a somber expression. Harry immediately withdraws and opens his mouth to mutter an apology but Zayn beats him to it. “I just had a plate of pasta, after all. I hope you have ice cream, though; I didn’t have much time for dessert.”

Harry exhales, shoulders slumping even as he takes off his hat again and hits Zayn in the arm with it. “I’d forgotten what a tremendous arsehole you are.”

Zayn smiles sweetly, cheeks still warm. “Sorry.” 

Harry gives him a soft look under his eyelashes that says _don’t be_ then actually says, “Just one minute, let me change.”

 

**

 

They sit on Harry’s squishy couch in the dark except for the dim light of a green lamp on the coffee table, eating mint chocolate chip ice cream that Harry's delicately scooped into rose-print bowls and talk about pastries that Harry can and can't make and Zayn doesn't know what to do about the giant elephant in the room. They're making light chit chat as though they hadn't poured their hearts out to each other months before and he wants to make a move but he can't get the image of his granddad’s disapproving face out of his head. He offers to wash the bowls when they’re done, which makes Harry blush a pretty red, matching the red of his hoodie and Zayn feels light headed. 

It's eerily quiet once the water’s shut off. Harry hasn’t made a move the whole night and Zayn wants to kick himself for being a massive idiot. It dawns on him that they spoke for a few hours a decade ago and anything could have happened since then. Christ. It's been six months. He doesn't know anything about Harry. He’s probably found himself a nice boyfriend who cared enough to stay in touch after the first time they met. 

_You've missed your chance. You should've just asked for his number at the airport._

Harry does something to move his hair out of his eyes and doesn't move again, leaning against the counter across from Zayn. Zayn dries the bowls to do something with hands that's not fidgeting. The clock on the wall ticks, reminds him of the time lost. When he finishes, Harry’s fascinated with something on the back of his hand and it gives Zayn a chance to properly look at him. At his soft cheeks and the shadows his eyelashes are casting and the way his hair curls over his ears. His head is dipped, the side of his neck exposed, and Zayn wants to press his lips to his pulse point and apologize for being a dick. 

He doesn't. It's not likely he will, either, since he's scared to do anything with Harry, apparently. A waste of half his heart, this was. 

When Harry looks up and catches his eye, he smiles, though he doesn't know how. there's a deep, bittersweet ache in his bones that's making it hard to move. “Well. I'd better…” He nods towards the door and Harry nods too, a moment of sadness lingering in his reciprocating smile that almost roots Zayn into the floor of the apartment. He blinks quickly before he does something stupid like cry, and follows him to the door. 

Just before they reach it, Harry says, “Wait, quickly fill me in. How's the biomedical engineering?” 

Zayn scratches the back of his head, afraid he’ll reveal too much and come off as a creep. “It's good, yeah. I have an internship here at Memorial Sloan doing cancer research.”

“Like, in a white lab coat?” Harry grins and Zayn flushes. 

“Yep. And goggles.” 

“Goggles too? What a dork.” 

“Hey! You have to wear a foot-tall hat for your job.” 

“Our head chef’s hat is actually nearly three feet,” Harry says. 

“No way.” 

“Way! I have a picture from my first day at work there. It's a great ice breaker. Let me find it.” He taps around on his phone and scrolls what looks like a mile and then says, “here it is!” 

He's biting a smile into his bottom lip when he hands Zayn the phone and Zayn nearly drops it, that stupid picture of Oprah with a beard is staring at him from the screen. 

God, he’s so stupid. Why was he expecting Harry to do something? 

“This picture,” he laughs quietly. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “The start of great things,” he adds and Zayn’s gone. 

He locks the phone and steps forward, half blind in the dim apartment. _Do it_ the voice in his head urges for the millionth time tonight and he thinks, _will you shut up so I can?_ , and, thumbs light on Harry’s jaw, kisses him. 

 

**

 

“Hi,” Harry says softly a minute later when they’re back on his couch and they've finally stopped kissing. Harry's somehow in Zayn’s lap, gripping his elbow in one hand and the side of his neck in the other, stroking in small circles. Zayn is already panting, can't keep his hands off of Harry and he should be embarrassed but somehow isn't. He’s been looking at the curve of Harry’s neck, which is incidentally right in front of his face and he presses another kiss to it. 

“Hey,” Zayn says back, thumb at the corner of Harry’s smile. He smells like flour and olive oil and a hint of basil and it's so much. Zayn wants to kiss him again but Harry starts speaking. 

“I was trying to play it cool. Since you pulled that whole ‘now’s not the right time’ crap on me in the airport but then Frank said someone complimented Ted and I know Ted doesn't have any friends and nobody knows what a saucier is anyway. So I thought it was one of my friends playing a joke, you know? So I asked Frank to describe what you looked like and he said dark hair and next thing I knew I was sprinting.” 

“Yeah. I mean-no. I'm sorry. I should've asked you for your number in the airport since I knew I wanted to see you again but. I was a huge wimp. Clearly. I tried to find you on Facebook, but. I don't know why I expected you to have one. I don't know why I didn't just ask you for your number.” He drops his hand from Harry’s face and stares at it, guilt boiling low in his stomach. 

Harry shakes his head and takes Zayn’s hand in between both of his. “It's fine. You were dealing with some stuff, then. I was too. The timing was all wrong.” 

Zayn nods. “I still can't believe you’re a line cook. That’s amazing. Look at you go. Give it a few months and you'll be head chef.” 

“Zayn, you don't even know what line cook is,” Harry laughs. 

“No, but it sounds more important than saucier.” 

“It is. It's chef de partie in French, if that helps.” 

“Oh, I know what that is!” 

“You do?”

“No.” 

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes, smiling. “Metaphysical mathmagician. Doing actual cancer research. You're a genius. Don't look at me, I don't deserve it.” 

Zayn laughs. “Biomedical. Biomedical math-magician.” 

“Get out.” 

“You haven't cooked for me yet! You promised!” 

“Did you bring the Prosecco _you_ promised? I'm not cooking before you bring it.” 

“No,” Zayn bites his lip, “but I did say I would be late, so I could go get it now.” 

“Ha. Like hell if you think I'm letting you leave.” 

“Well I could cook, I guess,” Zayn offers. “Although I don't think it'd be as romantic.” 

“What, and have you set fire to my water?” 

“I can't believe you remember that.” 

“Of course I remember it. You're the nicest person I've ever met. I remember everything you said to me.” 

Zayn feels warm when he looks up at Harry. He can't believe what he's hearing. He's definitely not nice. Not as nice as Harry, at least.

“I'm not nice. I make fun of you all the time.” 

“What, you mean suggesting I work at the Olive Garden?” He asks and Zayn nods, smiling. “You’re not mean. I like the things you say. You make me laugh.” 

“Well, I try.” 

Harry smiles at him and he smiles back, happier than he's felt in ages. A moment of silence passes, then he says, “You know, if you have some potassium lying around, I could show you how to set water on fire.” 

“Yeah,” Harry jokes. “Let me just get my spare _potassium_ from the pantry.” 

Zayn grins and reaches for his hand, threading their fingers like a sap. “I'll show you some other time. You’ll have to wear goggles though.” 

“Oh, no thanks. I don't look cute in goggles.” 

“You always look cute.” 

“I know, of course. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Zayn kisses his cheek. “That's fair. Sorry we didn't have our date.” 

“That's okay. Are you free tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, but I won't be able to call you with my detailed review of the movie until Monday at six.” 

“Wanna skip the date and go straight to bed now?” 

“Absolutely not. I've been looking forward to your stupid chicken pesto pasta for like half a year now.” 

“Okay, but make sure you’re not already full. Since it'll have to be after the lunch hour. Around four?” 

“That should be fine. I usually skip lunch anyway.” 

“Take that back or I'll have to cancel.” 

“Sorry. Take what back?” 

“Thank you.” 

Zayn smiles for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. “Okay, well. I'd better be off. Want to be nice and awake for tomorrow.” 

Harry frowns but nods, sits up and walks him to the door. He says, “Wait, one last thing,” and gives Zayn and sweet, lingering kiss that leaves him breathless against the door. 

“Don't forget the champagne!” Harry reminds him when he's out the door, zipping up his coat for him because he's the sweetest person alive. 

“I won't,” Zayn gives him his word and parts with one last kiss on the cheek. 

It's not until he's outside that he realizes he’d forgotten to ask Harry for his number, _again_. It doesn't matter as much this time, though.


End file.
